


Disgust

by Markovia



Series: A Good Deed [6]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Blood, Gore, Language, M/M, Stitching, injuries, stab wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 15:19:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: The blood from the stab wound on Izaya’s shoulder was seeping into his shirt and the smell was making him feel sick. The close proximity to the bastard was making him feel even worse.





	Disgust

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally in chapter one of 'A Good Deed' but I scrapped it as it was already too long. I've got quite a few scenes from the story that I kept which I'm going clean up and post as one-shots. Think of it as a 'Deleted Scenes' Hope you enjoy. :)

The rain got heavier on the walk home. His journey back was slower than usual thanks to the dead weight of his most hated enemy hanging in his arms. Izaya wasn’t heavy but he was awkward to hold, his spindly limbs were bony and sharp and they jabbed into Shizuo’s torso as he moved. The blond grunted as he shifted the unconscious informant over his forearms. The blood from the stab wound on Izaya’s shoulder was seeping into his shirt and the smell was making him feel sick. The close proximity to the bastard was making him feel even worse. 

 

“What the fuck am I doing?” Shizuo muttered to himself. 

 

He rounded the corner onto his road and gave a relieved sigh when his apartment block came into sight. Saving Izaya from bleeding to death hadn’t been part of his plan for the day so his stomach was rumbling from lack of food and he was gasping for a drink. With a huff, he hoisted the informant over his shoulder and circled one arm around his legs. His free hand searched in his trouser pocket for keys as he made his way up the stairs to his front door. Izaya’s felt so light and frail, he couldn’t quite believe that this was the same body that flitted so easily from building to building when they fought. 

 

He was still confused as to why he didn’t just leave Izaya to bleed out on the roof. Deep down he knew his excuse ‘ _ because I want to be the one to kill him _ ’ was pretty flimsy, but the forefront of his mind was happy to accept it for now. He shoved the keys into the lock and quickly moved inside his apartment, glad to be out of the rain at last. Izaya was bleeding too much to put on the sofa, so he laid the man out on the kitchen counter. The surface was long enough that only his feet dangled off the end and as it was a tiled surface it would easier to clean. Blood started pooling beneath the man’s torso almost immediately. 

 

Shizuo debated what to do. The amount of blood told him that he didn’t have time to wait for Shinra, he should probably make an effort to patch Izaya up a little before giving the doctor a call. The blond had some experience in stitching, he’d sewn himself up a number of times over the years but he’d never tried to do it to anyone else. There wasn’t enough time to deliberate, so he hastily retrieved the first aid kit he kept in the bathroom and set it down beside the dying informant. With a grimace, he pushed Izaya’s shirt up his torso and pulled it over his head. The movement was harsh enough that his unconscious body jerked up then slammed back down onto the countertop with a wet slap. One of his arms lolled off the side and brushed down the front of Shizuo’s leg. The blond grasped his wrist and forced his arm back onto the surface, thoroughly disgusted that he was having to not just look at a half-naked Izaya, he was also having to  _ touch  _ him. 

 

“Fucking hell,” he sighed, mouth curving into a frown. He found the needle and suture thread among the first aid kit and set it down beside the informant’s lifeless face. Luckily they were already threaded together as Shizuo wanted to be prepared for the next time he himself was wounded and wouldn’t have the patience to push the thread through the small eye. The gash on Izaya’s shoulder was deep and just between the ball of the joint and his collarbone which would be very difficult to heal. Shizuo hurriedly washed his hands and grabbed a towel so that he could wipe some of the blood away from the stab wound. His efforts were rather futile as more blood kept pouring out the more he tried to clean it. With a growl, he threw the towel into the sink and searched the first aid kit for the antiseptic liquid he kept in there. 

 

“Shit,” he grunted. There was barely any left in the bottle, he’d have to improvise. With a groan he reached beneath the counter and brought out the high-proof vodka he kept for ‘emergencies’. “You owe me for this, flea.”

 

He took up the needle in one hand and the vodka in the other, yanking the stopper from the bottle with his teeth. The stench of alcohol hung heavy in the air as he poured it onto the wound and scowled. What a waste, he thought, especially to have to use it on the flea of all people. When the blood was cleared a little he set the bottle down and leaned down so that he could position the point of the needle at the top of the wound. He glanced up at the other man’s face and debated whether or not to strap him down. It would undoubtedly hurt, not everyone had his pain tolerance, but Izaya was still out cold and showed no signs of waking up. Shizuo swallowed and pushed the needle through the skin and pulled on the thread until it tugged on the skin and it was firmly in place. 

 

The process was laborious and long, but Shizuo kept his hands steady and the thread as tight and neat as he could. Halfway through, he peered up at Izaya’s face and pursed his lips. The informant’s face was covered in patches of dried blood and there was a fresh stream of it running down his forehead. The red dripped off his brow bone onto his closed eyelids and eventually splashed onto the countertop. Shizuo tilted his head to one side as he pulled the thread through the puncture and closed another inch of the wound. When he wasn’t smirking or scheming, Izaya was a sickly looking thing, delicate almost. In the state he was in, Shizuo couldn’t believe this was the same man, the only man, who ever got close enough to stab him. The gang that jumped him must have been really aggressive, he thought, pushing the needle through another patch of skin. He hated the informant’s guts, he really did, but he had to admit that the man’s skill was impressive. 

 

Two more stitches went by and the suture was completed. With a shaky sigh, Shizuo fixed the thread in place and took a few steps back from Izaya’s body. His hands were sticky and saturated in the man’s blood so he headed to the sink and stuck them underneath the tap. He kept washing until the running water turned from red to pink to clear. The blond turned off the tap and leaned heavily against the counter, thinking over what to do. The burning hatred he felt toward Izaya was oddly cool, perhaps seeing the other man in such a state-  _ no.  _ He could not allow himself to feel any sympathy toward the informant so he began to replay all the terrible things he’d done toward him in his mind. The memories fanned the flames of rage and soon Shizuo’s face was flushed and a vein throbbed in his forehead. 

 

“I hate you,” he spat at the unconscious man. He grasped the bottle of vodka and poured another glug of it over the wound. If he was lucky Izaya might still get infected with something. 

 

Shizuo picked up the wet rag he’d thrown into the sink and grabbed ahold of Izaya’s hair so that he could yank his torso off the counter. The informant’s mouth hung agape and a thick, bloody wad of drool slid down his chin. With a noise of disgust, the blond began to wipe the filth off his face. His actions weren’t exactly gentle but they were certainly softer than the force he usually applied to Izaya’s body. When he’d finished scrubbing the blood away from the smaller slashes and patted down the vodka, the informant’s skin was rubbed red raw but at least it was clean. With the blood gone he got a better look at Izaya’s body and frowned when he noted his injuries were worse than expected. There were a number of contusions blossoming in purple and black across his chest. A particularly bad dent in the front of his chest made him suspect that his ribs were shattered. He settled Izaya on the sofa and slipped a towel beneath his back to stop the blood from soaking into the seat cushions. The smaller man was so gaunt that Shizuo placed two fingers against his neck just to double check that he was still alive. A steady heartbeat beat against his fingertips - damn flea, he just wouldn’t die would he? 

 

Finally, Shizuo collapsed onto the armchair opposite the other man’s body with a can of beer in one hand and a sandwich in the other. What the fuck was he doing, he thought. Didn’t he want Izaya dead - wouldn’t it be simpler to just tear the stitches out and let him bleed out in the shower? Certainly, but the thought sickened him. He took a large gulp of beer and wiped his lips with the back of his mouth. The blond searched his pockets and retrieved a cigarette from the box there. He lit it swiftly and breathed in a long drag. The smoke burned the back of his throat but it calmed him and God knows he needed to calm himself down. 

 

After the beer he would need to wrap up the wound, he probably had a bandage somewhere in the house. Maybe an ice pack for the ribs as well - but that was probably best after the informant woke.  _ If  _ the informant woke.  His gaze moved down to Izaya’s lower half but he scoffed and shook his head. No fucking way was he checking for injuries there, he thought, he’d rather chuck himself into a shark tank. 

 

 


End file.
